Goshen

 

Goshen 

by Timothy Reed

Oh thee of green-gilt hills,

of rain and fecund flock. 

Goshen: my home, my own.

Goshen: my home, unowned.

Oh thee of promise bright, 

of cheer and laugh and sun.

Of dancing sons and full-bright moon

of firstborn right and nation’s boon.

Oh thee of slavery’s sweat,

of blood and mud and grit. 

Goshen: my home, my own.

Goshen, “my home” I groan. 

Oh thee of much-spent years, 

oh thee of endless tears. 

Goshen: my home, alone. 

Goshen: my home. 

To thee of strawless brick

To thee of souls made sick.

Of Nile red and moonlight dead —

Goshen. 

Oh thee of my slain son!

Of mothers’ gutted cries!

Goshen! 

Goshen, ’tis thine own speech

of darkened years and plans 

that struck our blighted ears,

that penned our blackest fears. 

Goshen: my home, my own.

Goshen: my home, disowned.

 

Oh thee of gleaming eye,

of myrrh and glinting gold.

I’ll pluck that sight 

one God-knit night

And leave thee all alone.

Goshen. 

This poem is about how what seemed to be so bright and promising (the land of Goshen) ended up becoming the source of the slavery of the people of Egypt for hundreds of years. I was wrestling with displaced sense of hope and expectation that we form. Ultimately, Genesis & Exodus lead us to the idea that, post-Eden, there is no true home but in God. No promised land will ever substitute his eternal plan where sin is erased.